Five Little Ducks
by Sardonyx Feather
Summary: The line of Durin is meant to fall. Eventually, there is none left, but Mother Duck. (Spoilers) Based on the nursery rhyme Five Little Ducks.


Frerin was but a child, cursed with the misfortunes of bloody war.

Frerin was young and bold, wily and carefree- he did not belong on the battlefield, where laws were punishments, where rules were death, where honor was naught but an ideal. His battleaxe was too large, his armor too heavy.

As he stood amongst the ones he called his friends, he felt that he could not seem to summon up the youthful courage that he was known for.

It was a raging howl of everything borne of hate, where enemies became allies, where allies became enemies, where indifference meant death and love was gone.

He felt scared, and he knew he would not come out alive.

He was right, but sometimes, it is better to be wrong.

* * *

_Five little ducks went out one day,_

_Over the hills and far away._

_Mother duck said, "Quack quack quack,"_

_But only four little ducks came back._

Dís was five months pregnant when Smaug came.

* * *

No one ever saw it coming.

Dís was not a cowardly spirit. She was thick-headed, stubborn, and tenacious- and showed courage in the face of fear itself. It was what Thorin had praised and detested in equal amounts. To be fair, it was a family trait that flowed through the line of Durin like the warm blood in her veins, and Thorin was no exception. It was what had endeared her to her husband, and it she embraced it.

She heard the tales of fire so great it melted stone, scales so strong they were impenetrable, a roar so loud it caused earthquakes, eyes as terrifying as death itself. Tales told during dark, cold nights, over a warm fire, tales told during festivals and celebrations, words spinning like thread, to keep children entertained.

That was what it was- tales and myths, told to children to make them eat their vegetables.

When she heard the sound carrying over mountains and plateaus, the ground rumbling beneath her feet, wingflaps that felt like tornadoes, she knew.

And as she stood in the monumental stone halls of the Lonely Mountain, set ablaze with the fiery scarlet crimson of dragon fire, the heat radiating off the tall marble pillars, she could not help but be a little afraid.

That day, she lost more than her husband to the legends of old- she lost her home.

* * *

_Four little ducks went out one day,_

_Over the hills and far away._

_Mother duck said, "Quack quack quack,"_

_But only three little ducks came back._

* * *

Fili never wanted any of this.

He never wanted to be the heir- never wanted Kili to be dragged into all of this, never wanted the war to happen.

He knew that at the root of everything, the Arkenstone was to blame- and Thorin too. Yet he could not bring himself to blame anyone- or anything.

He did not know what was going to come, but he would stay with his brother till the very end.

* * *

The battlefield is chaos, blood splattered dirt and the clanking of metal against metal, the swinging swords and axes, and it is a cacophony of bleeding flesh and dying breaths, and he does not know where he is, but he will stand till the very end.

Thorin has fallen to the skillful thrust of a sword and well aimed arrows, and he stands by Kili, his only brother, and there is no one he trusts more. There are too many, too many, and he knows that, and he cannot do anything about it, because he is too _weak._

Fili knows what is going to happen, so he turns, and he sees the sword, and he throws Kili aside, and for a moment there is only searing cold metal, and the sound of blood rushing in his ears- but that is okay, because he did not fail his brother, and he would keep his promise. He remembers the edge of a cliff, a child's terrified scream, and the oath made on that day. He remembers, and that is enough.

He closes his eyes so he does not have to see Kili fall.

He never opens them again.

* * *

_Three little ducks went out one day,_

_Over the hills and far away._

_Mother duck said, "Quack quack quack,"_

_But only two little ducks came back._

* * *

Kili stands beside Fili, and he feels like he belongs.

Granted, they are about to charge into a war- but they are brothers in heart, and they will either make it out alive, them both, or they will fall together.

He knows he might not, but he will stand beside Thorin and his brother until his very last breath.

He fingers the small black stone in his pocket, and thinks, _Mother, I'm sorry._

* * *

Battle has no glory in it.

It is full of deceit, lies, backstabbing- a intricate web of spun evil, the edges rough and frayed, and prey is waiting, without hope, for their death, but they struggle anyway, because it is all they can do, and they know they will not live.

Kili realizes this.

Thorin falls to piercing metal blades and the swift strike of someone who has seen many battles- Kili is struck with the certainty he will not leave this battlefield today.

He has a vow, a promise, a pledge, and he will uphold it.

He hears it first.

The ringing of a sword, the faint shadow of where it had been before, and he will not move in time. He draws a breath, and he hears the blade go through flesh and bone.

He does not feel it.

Kili spins around, thick confusion clouding his vision, and he sees the golden hair of his brother, now filthy and grimy with dark reds and blacks and browns, the braids undone. His brain works sluggishly, dulled with the fatigue of battle, and he cannot, will not accept what he sees, because this _cannot be happening._

Fili draws his last breath, and he murmurs something, lost in the pandemonium of blood and death.

* * *

In the end, Kili fights as hard as he can.

This time, it is his chance to protect his brother, his uncle, his chance to prove that he would keep his word. It is one that was born to fail.

He falls beside his brother, where he belongs. The pain has long faded with the screams and shrieks of those around him, and his hand finds its way to his pocket, where a smooth black stone hides, where it is cracked down the middle.

_Mother, I'm sorry._

* * *

_Two little ducks went out one day,_

_Over the hills and far away._

_Mother duck said, "Quack quack quack,"_

_But only one little duck came back._

* * *

It is ironic, Thorin thinks, how everything becomes so clear, just when it no longer matters.

He has made a great many mistakes in this life, and nothing, not even the power of Mahal, would be able to fix it all. There is nothing longer for him in this world, and he knows it. There is still time to acknowledge his mistakes, make them his own, and it becomes his blame. Nothing he has done is honorable, clouded with greed as they were, but it has served its purpose.

His whole life is filled with apologies that will not correct any of his many, many wrongdoings.

It does not matter now, but there is time to repair just a little bit of the shattered pieces his actions have caused.

_If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But, sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell._

* * *

_One little duck went out one day,_

_Over the hills and far away._

_Mother duck said, "Quack quack quack,"_

_But none of the little ducks came back._

* * *

**_A/N: _Obviously the nursery rhyme has a happy ending, but it doesn't fit in the story.**


End file.
